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September 06, 2006

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When Joe is worried, I know things must be looking up.

Joe, you and Candidia have made WB the only game in town, so why are you surprised that we have learned to play it. Pony boy can try the marshal law thing, but the jig is up, everyone knows the con. It won't work anymore.

The body politic seems to be stirring in its sleep.

He am her worst nightmare? Papa?

Sokay, tater. The lawyer gets dumped for the actor in Big Chill, I think...

Understood, Tater. Reliving a mis-spent youth, but why not mis-spend old age too?

Mid-spent old age. So much the better.

t.tot gets pretty agitated in the vicinity of misspending, my friends. Had we any sense we would have strapped him to our bosom at birth like Steve Irwin, walked among the reptiles unafraid...

The right works with young people on campus to give them experience that will lead to good jobs upon graduation on a ladder of roles in think tanks, publishing, punditry. I like the idea that MDS may include people who would be good contacts for campus progressives so they could join Wealth Bondage as did many of their elders and still retain an interest in activism. A rebirth of Radical Chic? It could be worse. It beats moping all day in a Dumpster.

Again with the "moping".  Googldeboop, my brother, googldeboop...  :-)

Ahhh, but, Tutor. The Dumpster. That trashy, earthy smell. So soothing. One of my earliest memories is sitting by the trash cans so that I could avoid the "loud" lady who was coming over for a visit. I grabbed my plastic molded pig, Piggy, and my bucket and shovel and sat in the sand next to the rusty oil drums that were used back then for trash pick up. And to this day a garbage smell will cause me to feel all at home. And that is also why I like it here. When the world gets to be too much, well, what better place to mope or recharge than this Dumpster?

Retaining an interest in activism. I do remember fiestier days when I was one of a number on that bus. No, not the civil rights buses. The pro choice buses. Back when 41 was President. I yearn again to be closer to the frontlines instead of merely cheering on my colleagues. Some day I intend to get back into the swing of things. The closest I've come has been attending a peace vigil on the eve of this horrendous war. My friend and I had the remarkable good fortune of hearing Joan Baez sing live. Oh, but how my feet yearn to march again. And my hands yearn to hold up signs. And my voice yearns to chant out the old slogans, altered to match the protest. I am a baby boomer, but I missed the time by a few years. Glad to see some of the Old Guard returning to the forefront.

I think this is germane now:

The World We Want It All

I don't.

Not sure how to read the The World We Want it All except as the expression of an attitude of unconquerable cynicism. What then? Where do you go with that, once you reach the point of burnout, disgust, loathing etc? Cynicism, in a sense stands aside, and makes mock. That is the way it has come down to us. But with Diogenes, who was described as "the mad Socrates," there was always a zen-like moral. He was a cynic and a showman, an ancient Barnum, but he was as was Socrates, trying to change the way his fellow citizens saw themselves, the world, and how they acted. Assume it is hopeless, and that the imporant battles will be lost. Then carry on. There are better ways to expire than in a foxhole, a Dumpster, or idling on the sidelines. When we perfect the cynical jab, what we do is to puncture ourselves. Being demoralized is understandable, and may be inevitable, but it is not defensible as a strategy for positive social change.

Funny. To me it's not any of those things. I thought it was germane because it is expressive of SCOPE. With the grander scope comes the greater peril, imho. And I'm a cock-eyed optimist from the old school. Haven't you noticed how I always turn my head from side to side?

BTW, did you follow the "moping" link above? How can you not see the earnest sibling letters as constructive?

art, satire, poetry, dance, mocumentaries, photographs, video clips, cries of dissent ... that is all that will work, if ever

J.J., Wealth Bondage on Tour - would that be a step in the right direction?

imo it might .. but it would have to be Simpsons-ized and you might very well get arrested.

which would get in the way of showing up at work.

J.J., you do have it in proper perspective.

I think we should get Youth With a Mission to help out with a docudrama about Wealth Bondage. Their burgeoning Film Institute did a bang up job on Path to 9/11. Just imagine what they could do to uplift all of us in the Dumpster.

Debbie:

Are you blogging a semi-autobiographical journal of your... journey, through TWWW?

If not, you should be

I.M.H.O.

Oh, goodness, mole. Flustered. Humbled. Flustered. Stubbing toe aw shucks into the ground. Ummmm, errr, I am doing a bit of talking and listening to myself at O/Net when I have spare time and working braincells. TWWW. Every time I think about it, I think I would sound like a beauty pageant bimbo if I tried to actually articulate TWWW. I want world peace. I want justice and equality for all. I am surprisingly unable to articulate it. Maybe because I feel so emotional about it. No ideas are sticking in that poor, bedraggled and ill used brain of mine. I think my feelings have a lot of depth but expressing them would come across as so bloody vapid. It's distressing. I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you. I just don't know if I can do that justice. At least not yet.

Parables or fables or allegories: only in these can we "document" Wealth Bondage. For in the real world, Wealth Bondage is Freedom. The World we Want is not in Bondage to Wealth, yet the World We Want is inside Wealth Bondage, where all is done in exquisite taste in accordance with the tenets of good sense. Yet this remains a scandal and must not be spoken in polite company.

I think my favorite image of shit breaking open is the nosebleed. There was a beautiful instance of this via Jessica Lange in the flick Men Don't Leave. A drop or two on the crisp white shirt shall suffice...

Debbie, do you have many fillings? We could maybe shake them loose out near Barstow? Gerry?

I have exactly three fillings in my mouth. One silver. One gold. One platinum.

Biking? You expect me to tear about on a bike? Motorized or otherwise? Gerry has tried all these many years. Gimme a place to hike, and I will walk and ponder, slow and steady. I've got two speeds, fella. Slow and slower. Like the tortoise, I eventually beat the harried hare. I am methodical in all my madness. I carry the weight of the world wherever I go. Such an awful responsibility requires slow progress. I do get there. Some day.

Ok, Husqvarnas it is, then...  ;-)

Watch it, fella. You're a blind rodent, and I am a fat woman. I think I am the odds on favorite in any scuffle. Smartassery could create need for a take down. Now, I am ordinarily a peaceable woman, but I can strike with deadly rhetorical force, if need be. And judge and jury would all agree it was purely self-defense. "I done told him to stop," I'd sob convincingly. There wouldn't be a dry eye in the house. If need be, I'd lie more convincingly than W about weapons of mass destruction. "That rodent. Why, I was sure he was gonna overpower me. I am just a poor, defenseless woman. Guess I got me a surge of adrenaline. Yeah, that must have been how I was able to crush him like a bug." And no one would be the wiser and know that I was at my most malicious and took glee in slicing and dicing you. You wouldn't be around to say otherwise.

You gonna behave yourself and play nice, fella? Take a walk with me and I will sing you songs of an unsung life. And if you are extra nice, I will explain your surroundings to you. Get out my plant books and tell you if something is edible or deadly. We could talk. Nice and companionable like. That would suit me just fine.

Ok, how 'bout we compromise. In the day, you ride along with Snowball. In the evening -- or early early morning -- we Mindwalk, just like you want? (I love this diplomacy! So civilized!)

Errr, ummm, I am scared to ride on a... what exactly is that thing? A motorcycle? A dirtbike? Besides, how can you talk when you are riding around in a noisy contraption? And bouncing? Ain't no sportsbra large enough, buddy, and that is just about God's truth.


Mr. Mole, I do seriously want to meet you some day, but, egads, I am not quite so tough as I talk, but you probably knew that. Oh, sure, some days, like nails, I am. Other days, not so much.

Could you email me that Mindwalk link? Bit of a synchronicity, that, and I'd sure like to ponder it. Been talking connections to people lately, and Melville, too, and so it's cool for me to see how these things are all woven together.

Don't want to mindwalk, exactly, but I like my peace and quiet so I can clear my head. Know what would be really cool? Lake Havasu. I'd like to get back to the Grand Canyon and do more than stay for the five minutes or so that I did with my mom and dad. My dad was sorta like, "OK, you've seen it. it's grand. Now back in the car." He was a workaholic, and he drove us these impossibly long distances in one day, now that I think about it. Chicago to LA? I think we drove that in record time. He didn't go fast, mind you. But, holy Christ, what stamina and raw determination.

How do we know when the worlds we want mesh and when they collide? Owie, owie, owie, that collsion is gonna hurt real bad. I mean, I've got a hard head, but that's gonna be just plain ridiculous.

Yeah. I couldn't even convince my best (female) friend to do it. What chance do I have with perfectly good strangers? (In each of my cock-eyes I see a version of it happening. Who needs stereo?)

"OK, you've seen it. it's grand. Now back in the car."

:-)  Flashed on that tv manufacturer commercial where they show the kids at The Canyon rushing excitedly toward the rim -- only to reveal the real attraction: a brand new bigscreen monster perched on the edge. Kids sit cross-legged at its feet, with wagging Spot, and Mom and Pop, all gathered close-together-like, a dream...

(Where the Stars stay...)

As far as strangers go, I am perfectly strange. Better stick to your cockeyed vision. Oh, I dunno. You might be able to soften me up. Could be a highspeed hug. OK, just slather me up with sunscreen and we can be off. I'll try anything once. But if I start screaming, and not in a good way, then all bets are off. But, wait, you're blind, being a mole and all. Doesn't the sensation of sunlight bother the hell out of you? And, if you're blind, how do you drive that thing? Uh, yeah. I am going to place my trust in a blind rodent. But, wait. If I am a bat, maybe I can supply the sonar. Yeah. That might work. Ummm, are moles nocturnal or diurnal? Would be rough if one of us had to switch hours.

moles are your friend and would never hurt you.

Bon mots. La Belle Musique.

~~ Comme ci. Comme ça. ~~

Quand votre âne blesse, s'asseoir.

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